


Zephyrus

by Crollalanza



Series: Iwaoi - Philos Series [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3930454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He traces the picture with his fingertip, marvelling at the likeness she caught, and the memories begin to flood him again.  Of sunshine, and afternoons laughing as their friendship formed and erupted into life. Tooru squealing with delight as Hajime shattered his own record running across the lawn. </p><p>And  -  he swallows – he wonders at how such a perfect family could have been so flawed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zephyrus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viria/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, VIKA! This is for you because not only did your interest drag me into Haikyuu, but your art continually inspires me (especially the IwaOi - sniffle). 
> 
> You're amazing and talented and this is the least I can do for your birthday.
> 
>  
> 
> (This story is part of the Philos series. It's not entirely necessary to read them all before you read this, but you might just like them :D)

Hajime likes to run. He always has. He likes the feel of pushing into the wind, pressing onwards as he flees whatever demons are behind. He likes to think when he runs that he has wings at his heels. That he’s immortal, not touching the ground as he chases currents of air.

He hasn’t run for months. And he’s missed it.

By God, he’s missed it.

As he stretches, he feels the faint patter of precipitation on his face, and stares at the clouds. The sky is grey, the horizon threatening, but Hajime’s never felt oppressed by storms for they suit the tumult that’s raged inside of him for so many years.

And running on the beach, hearing the scrunch of sand under his trainers, so different from the squeak of the court, frees him from the emotions whirling in his mind, releases his tempests.

He has always been fast. He outstripped everyone at his elementary school. No one came close. Not even Tooru.

Hajime breathes out through puffed cheeks and lunges again, stretching his leg, his knee, feeling the muscle burn, but nothing twinges, nothing hurts, and he’s here to run.

He could have played any sport. So could Oikawa. But both chose volleyball. Oikawa because ... he liked the idea of being in control, Hajime thinks. And there was the fact that as an all-rounder, Oikawa could spike, could receive, could serve, could toss.

The ultimate player in one outstanding boy.

Hajime had been told he should consider athletics. He could sprint. He was fast. He was strong. He had the perfect frame and mindset of a winner. But he liked the heft of the ball in his hand. He liked the feel as it met his palm before he spiked. He liked the sting as he slammed it down, and the thud as it hit the court, the realisation that he could save a point, that he could win a game. He liked so much about volleyball. It wasn’t just, as his teachers and parents thought, because of Tooru.

He chews his lip, finishes his stretching, and tries not to think. _I wonder how he –_

Stopping the thought before it formulates, he slaps the side of his head and takes his first step. He can’t quite believe he’s hesitant when this has been something he’s wanted for weeks – to be here, alone, with no one to hold his arm, or chide him for doing too much.

And best of all no fucking crutches.

He starts to run.

His mind blanks, a space of nothing enters his head, a whirr of wind and swirled thoughts, because right now, Hajime is all fast fury and sensation.

***

 

(“Race me, Iwa-chan!”

“’k, where to?”

“End of the lawn.”

It was a hot day in July. Tooru’s eighth birthday, which was why Hajime had been invited to play and have special birthday cake. It wasn’t a party. Having moved to Miyagi at the beginning of the summer break, Tooru didn’t have many friends, so his birthday party comprised of him and his family. Best seats at the new IMAX cinema and then a restaurant, Tooru told Hajime, not meaning to boast, and he shrugged when Hajime said ‘wow’.

“My sister will complain about the film,” he replied. “And we can’t go on my birthday because my father is away.”

Hajime wondered what it must be like having a dad who worked away from home, only seeing him at weekends.

 _Prob’ly quieter,_ he thought.

“Ready, steady ...” As Tooru gave him a quick excited look, Hajime ground his teeth, waiting for that moment. He didn’t know Tooru well enough, and he might be the type of boy who’d cheat. He might set off the split second before he said go, so Hajime wanted to be ready.)

***

 

 _He didn’t cheat._ Hajime thinks now as he pounds across the beach _. Despite everything, he’s never cheated._

***

 

(“Happy Birthday, Tooru-chaa-aan!” mocked his sister, yet she ruffled his hair, and there was a smile on her face belying the mockery.

Hajime peered across the table at her. He was an only child. Although his mum was pregnant with twins, so there was a chance one would be a girl. He stared at Hoshiyo with curiosity. He reckoned having an older sister must suck, especially as Hoshiyo always had the right things to say, and viewed both Tooru and Hajime with amused contempt.

“Hajime-chan, you’re here _again_?” she said, frowning as she teased a strand of black hair between her fingernails. Without waiting for a reply, she nudged Tooru. “Your face is dirty.”

“I fell over,” he muttered.

“How?”

“We had a race. I tripped at the end.”

“Were you in the lead?”

“No.”

Hoshiyo snorted. Her pink cat-like tongue poked between her teeth. “You must be fast, Hajime-kun. My brother won everything at his last school,” she said, flashing him a grin before she whacked Tooru on the arm. “Stop sulking and eat your cake or I’ll tell Father you’re a bad loser.”

“I’m not sulking,” Tooru retorted. “My chin hurts, that’s all.”

He ate half his cake in silence, attacking it with force. Hajime watched, not sure what to do now, then nibbled at his slice. The cake was delicious, melting in his mouth, and he wanted to take small bites so he could savour it, but if Tooru was in a strop, it would be better if he left.

“What movie have you chosen for Saturday?” Hoshiyo asked, popping one of the strawberries from the cake into her mouth. “Better not be dumb.”

“Zathura,” Tooru replied, a touch defiantly. “It’s _my_ birthday and it’s what _I_ want to see!”

Shuddering, she returned to the cake. “Another shitty alien film, I bet. I’ll take my mp3.”

“You don’t _have_ to go! Not if you’re going to ruin it for me!”

For one moment, Hajime saw something flicker across her face. He didn’t know then what she was thinking but her voice was softer when she replied, and not at all scornful. “I won’t ruin it, Tooru-chan. I promise.” And then she jerked her head towards Hajime. “Maybe ask Mum if he can come along, too, yeah?”)

***

 

It’s only now that Hajime remembers her emphasis. “ _I_ won’t ruin it, Tooru-chan.”

 

His breath is coming out in pants as he strives to find his rhythm, for it’s been too long since he enjoyed a run like this.

_“Why aren’t you coming with me? I thought you wanted to! Chance to get away from this dump – you said!”_

_“Uh ...”_ He’d fished for an excuse, but found nothing, so his answer came out blunt and rude. _“No.  Don’t want to. It’s ... look, it’s your thing, Oikawa. And I’ll be hanging around bored out my skull. Besides, your parents will be there, won’t they?”_

_“Yeah, right. My father’s away and Mum’s looking after Takeru.”_

Oikawa had stared at him, his lips pursed and Hajime knew he was in trouble because Oikawa in that mood would interrogate. But then he’d shaken his head.

_“Fine, Iwa-chan. I’ll go alone.”_

_“Oikawa... Look, I’m sorry, but ... uh ... why don’t we spend the evening together? Catch a movie, or something?”_

_“Can’t,”_ Oikawa had snapped. _“I’m seeing Hoshiyo.”_

 

“Fuck it, I should have told him!” he says aloud, but his words are carried away on the wind, and there’s no one around to hear him anyway.

It would have been good, as well, the pair of them spending time together, alone, with no fear of anyone walking in on them. A place where no one knew them, so they could maybe just hold hands in the street. Puffing out his cheeks, increasing his pace, he focused on the jetty ahead.

_He’ll be back tomorrow. I can explain then._

***

He’d gone to the film, and the restaurant after. And felt very out of place in his jeans and t-shirt, when the others had clearly dressed up. Not that anyone had said anything. Oikawa’s mother had been pre-occupied, her hand constantly plucking at her husband’s sleeve. She’d bought them water, a box of popcorn to share and a few sweets, but no ice cream because it was messy.

 

(“Of all the films you’ve ever chosen, that was the _worst_ ,” Hoshiyo drawled. She pulled out her earplugs and snapped shut a notebook in her hand.

“You weren’t even watching, so how do you know?” their father reproved.

“At least I wasn’t on my phone,” she replied.  There was intent in her eyes that, even at the age of eight, Hajime recognised as a challenge.

“I can’t switch off when the international markets are awake, Hoshiyo-kun,” he said, very quietly. “Someone needs to pay for your school, your clothes and that Art College you’re so _desperate_ to attend.”

Turning from her, he caught Hajime watching them, and gave him a wide smile, one he didn’t mirror with his eyes.

 “Did you enjoy the movie, Hajime-kun?” he asked, and placing his hand on Hajime’s shoulder, he steered him towards Tooru, who was pestering his mum for more sweets.

“Uh-huh.” He swallowed, realising he should be more polite and turned to Tooru’s mum. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Kiyo,” Tooru’s dad murmured, “Something’s come up and I need to make a call. Go on without me.”

“B-but it’s my birthday,” Tooru wailed, and grabbed his dad’s hand. “You said you’d be here!”

His dad stared down at him. He didn’t crouch the way Hajime’s dad did when talking to his son. He leant over him, and his height meant Tooru had to crick his neck right back. “Order my starter for me, Tooru-chan. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

But they were eating hakuto jelly for dessert when he finally showed up.

 

“Have you ever been fishing, Hajime-chan?” he asked, sliding into his seat after rapping out an order for whisky and an extra bowl of jelly.

“Uh ... yeah.  There’s a stream in the park, and I go with my net.”

“I meant with a rod,” Tooru’s father replied, laughing a little. He accepts his whisky from the waiter, dismissing him with a curt nod and a wave of his thin fingers.

“Oh ... um ... not been.”

“I’ll take you and Tooru sometime. Would you like that?”

He wanted to shrug but that might have looked rude, and remembering his mum’s words that he must be polite, Hajime nodded. If he’d been older, if he’d known this was merely an attempt to paper over the cracks in a broken evening, that Tooru’s dad was only talking to him because the other three were silent, he’d have ignored him, too. But at that time, having only met the man once before -where he’d been indulgent with his son, not at all annoyed at the mess on the lounge floor - Hajime found himself saying that he’d like to go fishing very much.)

***

 

He passes the jetty, giving it a nod, remembering how he threw maggots at Tooru. His eight-year-old self had been right because fishing with a rod, even by the sea, was very boring, and took far more patience than two boys bound together with endless energy could ever muster. With Tooru’s father’s nerves at shedding point, it had been Hajime’s dad who’d indirectly saved the day, packing a small ball into his rucksack before he’d sent him out for the day.

 _Maybe I should stop,_ he thinks, _pause for breath_. But he’s into his stride now, and although his lungs are starting to burn, they have yet to burst. And he’s relishing this, relishing the life force flooding his veins as he runs and runs and runs, his steps in perfect time with the rhythm of his pulse. The sun is climbing in the sky, peeping out from behind the clouds, warming the air, setting Spring in all its glory free.

_This time last year, we were wondering who’d come to Seijou._

He huffs, and wipes the perspiration from his brow.

_We wanted guys good enough to take on Ushijima, to knock him down._

It’s getting hotter, so he unzips his hoodie, letting it trail behind him.

_It was the only thing that mattered._

But now ...  as the sun flashes into his eyes, causing him to squint, but not responsible for the tears threatening to spill, he wants to rage again.

_And they were the best. But I let them down. I let YOU down._

There’s a lump in his throat, a kind of scratchiness that he can’t swallow away.

_Fuck, I wish you were here!_

He ploughs on, tempted to increase his pace, but knowing he shouldn’t push himself too far. He can hear a voice nagging at him.

***

_Slow down, Iwa-chan, slow down. You’re going too fast. I can’t keep up._

That summer he spent all his time with Tooru, mainly at his house, exploring the vast garden, climbing trees and running, always running across the lawn. Sometimes Hoshiyo joined them, wearing a red bikini to bask in the sun, or sitting in the shade, her sketchbook out as she sought to capture the colours around them.

“Iwa-chan’s the fastest boy in the world!” Tooru proclaimed, waving a stopwatch under her nose. “He- he – he runs like the wind, Neesan!”

“Zephyrus in Miyagi,” she murmured, then twisting sideways, she gave them both a grin. “I could paint that. Might be fun.”

“Zeff-what?” Hajime scowled at her, forgetting to be polite because he was sure she was taking the piss.

But her eyes were crinkling at the sides, the smile genuine. “Zeph-y-rus,” she repeated slowly. “He was the god of the wind in Greek mythology. Well, one of them.”

“Neesan’s very clever,” Tooru said loftily, “and she can paint. She’s going to be a really famous artist.”

“Dad willing,” she muttered.

“Hajime-chan!”

Looking up, his mouth drooped a little. Standing in the doorway was his mum, which meant it was home time. Home to the flat and no large garden, except a communal scrub of land where everyone hung their washing. And he’d have to be quiet because any noise woke his brothers.

“Oh, are the babies here?” Hoshiyo’s voice was shrill and excited, and she put down her sketchbook, ready to dash inside.

“I’m sorry, Hoshiyo-kun,” replied Hajime’s mum, smiling apologetically as she ran her fingers through her thatch of black hair. “They’d just settled down to sleep, so I left them at home with their daddy.” She held out her hands to Hajime. “Would you like ice-cream on the way back, Tiger? I’ll take you to the park if you want.”

He nodded, then bit his lip. “Can Tooru-chan come, too?” he whispered.

“If he wants, and his mummy says yes, then that’s fine,” she whispered back.

“Um... um ... um ...” Tooru shifted from one foot to another. “My father’s coming home soon, and I don’t want to miss him.”)

***

He’s reached the end of the shoreline. If he wants to continue, it will mean wading across the inlet, or climbing up the rocks. But they’re slippery and he doesn’t want to risk a fall. It’s as good a time as any to rest, so he sits on the sand, propped on his arms and stares out at the horizon.

Looking back, he realises now the effort his mum had made for him that day. Exhausted, and yet, she’d wanted alone time with her eldest son, frightened maybe that he’d felt shut out, so his dad had changed a shift, and she’d taken the bus to Oikawa’s house. He remembers the colour of her dress, blue and green, and the swirls of yellow on the hem. He can taste the ice-lolly in his mouth, and hear her laughter and pride when he told her about his day. And he thinks she was glad Tooru had not been there because it was a precious time that they spent together - just the two of them.

***

 

(“You like Tooru, don’t you?”

“Yeah, he’s fun.”

“And he makes you laugh. So, I like him, too,” she said, and fishing in her pocket, she pulled out a tissue to wipe his face. “When the twins are older, Hajime, you can invite him round for a sleepover if you want.”

“Um.” He bit his lip. “Maybe ... only ...”

“What?”

And how can an eight-year-old boy say that he’s ashamed because ... because ... Tooru had so much, and he had nothing? There were five televisions at the Oikawa house, and three computers. Tooru had both in his room. He had a mobile, although he was only eight and had no one to call, but he’d wanted a phone, so his dad had bought him one. All Hajime had was an old Nintendo, and he spent his time watching the one TV they owned, watching the programmes his dad liked in the evenings.

“Think about it, Hajime-chan,” she said, and ruffled his hair. “You can’t go round there all the time, darling. It’s not polite.”

“But Tooru asks me!”

“And his mummy never says no to anything he wants,” she replied, and stared in his eyes. “But maybe she should, don’t you think?”)

***

He slips off the hoodie, tying it around his waist, and stands up, hands on hips as he prepares to run back.  It had been three days until he’d seen Tooru, and he’d been resentful of the fact, thinking he’d been dropped, pushed out again. But the following Tuesday, there’d been a knock at the door (loud, but it hadn’t mattered because both babies were awake) and Tooru had been standing on the doorstep with his sister.

***

(“Can Tooru come and play for a bit?” Hoshiyo asked, a plea in her voice. “I’ve got some money if they want to get ice-cream.”

Naturally his mum agreed, not only that but she offered Hoshiyo a cup of tea and cleared a space on the sofa so she could sit down. Then, refusing the money, she handed Hajime some yen from her purse and told him to go to the park, or take Tooru to the store to buy cake.

They scampered off, Tooru catching Hajime’s hand as they rushed down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the lift.

“We got the bus!” Tooru said proudly. “I’ve never been on the bus before. It was a fun. And there was a lady with a big bag of shopping and she offered me a sweet because she said I had a ‘charming smile’. But Neesan wouldn’t let me take it, which was kind of mean, don’t you think?”

“Um... well, my mum tells me not to accept sweets from strangers,” Hajime replied.

“Why?”

“I dunno. They might be poisoned, I s’pose.” He frowned, wondering how you poisoned a sweet. Maybe you injected it, or added it to the chocolate.  “We c’n buy sweets instead of cake if you want.”

But Tooru wasn’t listening. Instead, he was staring across the road at a couple who seemed to be arguing, the lady whacking the man on the arm, her face furious, and the man trying to wrench away.

“Do your parents shout?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.

“Uh ... yeah, all the time. S’my fault, I’m very untidy, so Dad tells me to pick up my toys, and Mum’s always yelling ‘cause I’m late for breakfast.”

“Oh.” His brow furrowed. “Do they shout at each other?”

“Sometimes. Not much. Depends.” Hajime shrugged. “Mum says they don’t get much sleep with the twins. She told me it makes them ... um ... grumpy.”

He was bored and dragged on Tooru’s arm. “Cake, sweets or ice cream?”

Tooru was still watching the couple, his lip trembling slightly, and then he blinked twice and sniffed. “You choose, Iwa-chan. I don’t care.”)

***

As he turns to run back, he is aware of two things. One is that he’s no longer facing the sun, so he doesn’t have to squint. The other is that he’s no longer alone. There’s a figure on the jetty standing very still. And although Hajime isn’t close enough to see the features, or tell if the person is a man or a woman, he knows who it is.  There’s something about the set of the shoulders, and the thick jacket because he feels the cold, he always has.

Taking several breaths, trying to steady his pulse before it races into an overdrive not caused by running, he sets off.

Oikawa doesn’t wave or call out to him. He waits. As Hajime draws closer, he can see his feet shifting a little, and, all of a sudden, Oikawa starts to smile.

 “Looking good, Iwa-chan!” he whoops.

“Thought you weren’t back ‘til tomorrow?” Hajime queries. He stops by the jetty steps, wipes away some perspiration from his face and clambers up.

“Couldn’t see the point in staying, so I drove back overnight.”

“How did it go?”

“Good,” he replies. “It’s a great set-up and I –” He stops. “ _We_ are going to do well there.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow but doesn’t dispute it, not after yesterday’s news and this run. Not now he feels invincible.

They haven’t touched yet. There’s no one around, but there’s still a distance between them. Because although there’d been no real argument, Hajime knows how much Oikawa had wanted him to be there.

“You haven’t shouted at me for overdoing it,” Hajime says, eying him warily.

“You’re the one who shouts, Iwa-chan. I’m the nag, don’t you remember?” he replies, sounding arch. “Besides, your mum told me the news.”

“You called her?”

Oikawa raises his eyebrows. “Of course I called her. I wanted to know why you’d changed your mind about Tokyo. I thought something horrible must have happened for you to pass up a trip with me.”

Snorting, Hajime steps closer. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re so irresistible, Assikawa!”

“I am when there’s the chance to ditch Miyagi and everyone we know here,” he replies sagely. He smiles again, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “The doctor said you can resume training, then?”

Hajime nods and then he huffs out a breath, his relief so intense he’s surprised he can still stand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have done, I know, but ... I ... I just needed ... wanted ... had to –”

“Do this yourself, yes, I know,” Oikawa interrupts. “And ... mmm, maybe you thought I was a jinx.”

“Not you.” He shakes his head vigorously. “I didn’t tell anyone except Dad, and Mum wormed it out of him.  Look, it was more I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Or my own, so if I kept the appointment secret, no one would be disappointed if I failed.”

“It wouldn’t be failure, Iwa-chan, merely a setback,” Oikawa says, tutting. He pauses and takes a slow breath, letting it whistle through his teeth. “I was watching you for some time, you know. You’re looking strong. As fast as the wind.”

He snorts. “More of a breeze. I’m not back to full strength.”

“You can’t expect to be,” Oikawa replies, and pulls the face he appears to reserve just for Hajime – indulgent as he chides. “You’ll get your pace back.”

“How did you know I was here?” Hajime asks, curious because he’d told no one where he was going.

 “Process of elimination. You weren’t at home, and you weren’t at Seijou. Odd really, I would have put money on you going to the gym. Spiking a few balls.”

Eyes down, he studies his feet, then looks at Oikawa through his lashes. “Not without my Setter,” he mutters. “The first ball I spike has to be special.”

“My God, that’s almost romantic, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases, but his voice is breaking and he coughs to clear his throat. “You like to run. I’ve known that for ten years, and you like being alone, so where better than here.”

He takes his hands out of his pockets and reaches across, grabbing Hajime’s wrist to draw him close. “I haven’t seen you for four days, so where’s my kiss?”

“I’m revoltingly sweaty,” he warns. “Haven’t showered yet.”

“I’ve driven through the night and haven’t been home,” Oikawa counters. “We can be gross together, Iwa-chan.”

Neither pull away, but neither move. Instead, they stare at each other, and Hajime’s caught by the fact that Oikawa’s still shuffling his feet.

“Come here,” Hajime growls. He clasps him close, twining his fingers into Oikawa’s hair to pull him down. Their lips touch, and Hajime’s breath stops, as it always does, because although they’ve kissed so many times now, there’s always that anticipation, that moment of suspended reality, that this is what they are.

Oikawa’s hands move to Hajime’s hips, splaying out across the small of his back, and he can feel his fingers pressing, as the kiss continues. A kiss born of hunger, relief, and the lifetime of four days apart.

“We probably shouldn’t do this here?” Hajime mutters, when at last they break for air.

“There’s no one around,” Oikawa teases. “Besides, we’re only kissing.”

He shakes his head. “Hmm, I wouldn’t mind doing something else. Four days is too bloody long.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen and there’s a glimmer of a smirk on his lips. He moves his hand from Hajime’s back to his stomach, sliding downwards. “You _have_ missed me, haven’t you?”

“Course I have,” he starts to say, then gasps because Oikawa’s palm is pressing against him, working him lightly through his shorts with faint fingertip touches. “We can _not_ do this here.”

“I know,” laughs Oikawa as he nips his ear and pulls away. His hand, which had been so engaged with Hajime’s crotch, furls itself around his fingers. “I’d suggest your place or mine, but ...”

“With my brothers crashing in on us! It was bad enough the last time.”

“Pretending we were wrestling was inspired, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa mocks and then he sighs. “As soon as I get home my mum will want to know all about Tokyo, plus Takeru’s there, so ...” He licks his lips. “I do have the car.”

“Cramped,” he says, wincing at the thought.

“No, I borrowed my father’s,” Oikawa replies. “Plenty of room.”

_Plush leather seats and tinted windows._

“How did you swing that? Isn’t he away?”

A cloud briefly darkens his face, and Hajime immediately regrets the question. He squeezes Oikawa’s hand, rubbing his thumb across his wrist. “We’ll go to mine. I’ll lock the door.”

But Oikawa laughs, the gloom dispelled, at least temporarily. “We’ll probably find panties stuffed in the glove compartment.”

He’s wrong about that, but instead he finds a box of condoms, unopened, right at the back. Oikawa holds it in his hand, studying for a while. “See, fucking in cars is obviously a family tradition,” he says, before offering them to Hajime.

But he shakes his head. “Let’s see what happens, yeah.”

Because for all his bravado, for all his confidence and the nonchalance he affects, Oikawa is biting his lip to stop it trembling, and Hajime’s reminded – most painfully – of a boy nearly ten years before not understanding why his parents fought and plates were thrown.

They move to the back seat, and Hajime holds him, letting Oikawa flop his head on his shoulder. He breathes in the soft scent of his hair, and the salty sea air still clinging to his skin, and is overwhelmed, not just with lust, but compassion for this most outstanding boy.

“Make me forget,” Oikawa whispers.

“Sure.” He kisses him again, small pouted pecks on his cheek, nuzzles to his ear, blowing breath against his neck. And all the while his hands rove across Oikawa’s back, sliding down to tug at his shirt. His fingers fumble on Oikawa’s belt buckle, but instead of laughing at his cack-handedness, Oikawa wordlessly assists, finally kicking off his jeans with his feet.

The back seats are wide, but not quite wide enough to lie alongside, so they stay sitting, Oikawa’s knees crooked as he sits astride. There’s an ache in the air, a desperation born of longing – not just to forget but to have affirmation and validation that he is _wanted_ , that he is _needed,_ that someone is there for _him_.

Hajime doesn’t ask what he’d like, but grasps Oikawa’s cock.  He starts slow, with firm movements, watching his face, waiting for the minute changes that flit across Oikawa’s face. He waits for the sign he should speed up, slow down, clasp harder, lessen the grip.

But Oikawa’s silent, not instructing, not ordering, not keeping up his usual patter, and except for the breaths, Hajime wonders if he’s aware at all.

He bends down, still keeping up the pressure with his hand, but now touching his mouth to Oikawa’s stomach, using his tongue to glide downwards, licking the hair, the tip, the slit, the -

“No.” It’s one word, one breathy word, but for all its faintness, it’s an order, and Oikawa’s hands lift Hajime away from him. “I want to be kissing you,” he says in a clearer voice, and presses his lips onto Hajime’s mouth.

***

“Pass me that box of condoms,” Oikawa says afterwards.

They’re sitting in the front and he’s about to start the car, taking Hajime home.

“Uh ...why?  We’ve already ... um ...”

“Just pass it anyway,” he snaps. There’s a sly and determined look on his face as he peels off the cellophane, and tears open the cardboard box. The condoms spill onto his lap. He tuts and replaces them. All but one.

“Oikawa... uh ... what are you doing?”

“You can put it back in the glove compartment now,” he says, and screwing the cellophane into a ball, he stuffs it and the condom into his jacket pocket. “Family traditions are _so_ important, don’t you think?”

There’s a silence as he places his foot on the gas pedal, looking over his shoulder as he steers them onto the road.

“I met Sawamura on the orientation day,” he says at last.

“Really?”

“Mmm, seems he got a sports recommendation, too. He’s studying law, Iwa-chan, so he’ll be your classmate.”

“Your confidence in me is flattering,” Hajime replies, “but please don’t tempt fate. I haven’t got my results yet.”

“One more week,” Oikawa says.

He doesn’t want to think about it. He’s in too good a mood, having had the all clear for his knee, to contemplate a situation where his results aren’t enough. There’s too much riding on one slip of paper, not just his university place and his parents’ struggle to get him there, but everything he has with Oikawa.

“Did you talk to him?” he asks.

Oikawa arches his eyebrows, well aware that he’s changing the subject, but he plays along. “Mmm, when he wasn’t constantly texting Sugawara-chan. The rumours about that pair must be true.”

“Like us, then?”

“No one’s like us, Iwa-chan.”  He pauses, slowing as he takes a corner. “Mr Refreshing’s waiting on results, too. Sawamura looked very nervous. Clearly doesn’t have the confidence I do. And before you say a word, my confidence in you is _never_ misplaced.”

So Hajime doesn’t voice the doubts in his head. After losing his sports place, he had knuckled down to his schoolwork because the possibility of an academic scholarship was still open to him. But what if it had all been too late? What if there was so much more he should have done, because the gods knew he’d been distracted  - and not just with a torn tendon.

They stop at a fork in the road, waiting for a string of horse riders to trot past, and it’s then as he stares at Oikawa’s silhouette, that Hajime finds a residue of courage to face him.

“I could fail. Please don’t tell me that’s not crossed your mind. And then what? What happens to –”

‘ _Us_ ’- he wants to say, but the word catches in his throat.

Oikawa turns off the ignition. He frowns a little as he faces Hajime, but any reproof he might have had fails to leave his lips. Instead, he reaches onto the backseat and picks up his bag. There’s a flat side pocket, and he slips in his hand, pulling out a small notebook, one Hajime saw ten years before although it didn’t belong to Oikawa.

“Hoshiyo gave me this before I left for Tokyo,” he says. “She thought it might cheer me up.”

He hands him the book, open at a drawing of a small boy running, wings on his heels, and the breath of the wind speeding him onwards.

“Zephyrus,” Oikawa murmurs. “She called you that, didn’t she?”

“God of the West Wind, yeah, I remember.” He should be surprised at the irony of Oikawa pulling out this picture, when all he’s been thinking about as he ran were the golden days of _that_ summer, but it’s not the first time their thoughts have kept pace. ‘Perfect trust’ Oikawa calls it, and although he’s scathing, Hajime secretly agrees.

He traces the picture with his fingertip, marvelling at the likeness she caught, and the memories begin to flood him again.  Of sunshine, and afternoons laughing as their friendship formed and _erupted_ into life. Tooru squealing with delight as Hajime shattered his own record running across the lawn.

And  -  he swallows – he wonders at how such a perfect family could have been so _flawed_. How the cracks were so nearly irreparable, and to this day still threaten to shatter them.

“You are the only person, apart from Hoshiyo, who’s always stuck by me.”

“What’s your point, Tooru?” he asks gently.

He leans over to him, cupping Hajime’s face in his hands. “I will wait for you,” Oikawa whispers and kisses him softly on the lips.

And Hajime gives himself up to the moment, revelling in the soft mouth, the fingers twisting in his hair, and the need coursing through Oikawa. They break away, and Hajime’s caught by the intensity of Oikawa’s gaze, and the genuinely sincere smile on his face.

“Whatever happens,” Oikawa says, not yet letting go, “you’ll catch up because, Hajime, you’re the fastest boy alive.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to name Oikawa's sister after Vika because she's an artist. Unfortunately I couldn't find a name in Japanese that meant 'creative, inspiring, amazing and beautiful' - so instead she's called Hoshiyo which means 'star generation'.
> 
> I will now run away and blush for several years.


End file.
